


Gowron the Suspicious

by TheAndorianMiningConsortium



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Mild Blood, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAndorianMiningConsortium/pseuds/TheAndorianMiningConsortium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst I love The Way of the Warrior, I dislike how random Gowron’s behaviour was in that episode. It seemed like he literally changed his opinions on the spur of the moment, with very little explanation behind why he did that. But, given that 3 years had elapsed since Worf’s last meeting with Gowron, and Martok was imprisoned a year before the Klingon occupation of Cardassia began, I’ve come up with some ideas as to what could have driven Gowron to do what he did to Worf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gowron the Suspicious

Gowron was so strung up that he could barely think straight anymore. Seated in his thronelike chair, he stared at his hands, and imagined them, drenched and dripping with the blood of Duras. A fine pleasure it would have been to rip the  _petaQ_ 's life from the shell of his body and fling it like a discarded piece of dog shit onto the Barge of the Dead, but that particular satisfaction had been robbed from him.

“ _wo’rIv_ …” he growled quietly to himself, squeezing his hands into fists whilst he stared at them, with eyes that no longer saw what was ahead, but pictured instead the face of his enemy. Worf. A head taller than he was and a third again as broad; the man stood before him in his mind’s eye, powerful and stoic to the point of being wretched and despicable. With a face that never smiled, features that barely even twitched with the resemblance of a grin, and cold dark eyes that looked down on him, and judged. Where did he get off on this attitude? What made him think that he was so much better than anyone else?

Such were the thoughts drifting through the Chancellor’s head, muggy and blurred as they were. Attending to the duties of the Empire and the plans for the upcoming war had his mind wrapped up in knots, and untangling them was getting to be far more difficult than he would admit.

The last time the two had met had been on the  _Enterprise –_ Picard’s ship, on which Gowron’s so-called friend and ally had served. He remembered that day well. The very sight of a man who called himself Kahless brought a prickling suspicion running through Gowron’s veins, but only  _he_  had seen him for what he truly was. An imposter – a false prophet. Until Worf unravelled the secret, Gowron felt himself the only one not completely blind, and the entire thing had been infuriating.

But then had come the crunch. The Son of Mogh facing him down with a firm frown and a challenging glare of defiance.

“If I refuse to go along with this?” Gowron had asked. Less of a question it was, and more an expression of his own authority, his desire— his  _right_ — to do what was proper and honourable and for the good of the Empire. A reminder of  _who_ , exactly, was in power here. A reminder of  _who_  it was who called the shots.

“Then,” Worf countered, with a voice as infuriatingly deadpan as Gowron’s could be fierce, but the underlying threat clear nevertheless- made all the colder and deadlier because of his stoic countenance. “My brother and those who support him on the Council will fight you, and _I_  will fight you. And the Empire will fall back into civil war.”

Gowron could not argue, but that night as he had lain in bed and stared at the walls of his chamber, black in the pitch of night, his mind began to tread down a path that it had not taken him before. Gowron was accustomed to paranoia. It was an old friend to him, and it had helped him become the great man he was today. Protected him from Duras’ plot, protected him from all those that would use some trickery to bring about his assassination. Others said that paranoia was a dangerous and unhealthy thing, but it had always served him, and served him well.

But Worf? The man who had helped him become Chancellor? Never would Gowron have suspected  _him_  of treason, before that fateful day.

Now, some three years later, Gowron sat in the Chancellor’s chair and thought on Worf and Kurn. Three years of dwelling on the incident had lowered his opinion of the two of them so far, that it dropped beneath his feet and into the gutter. And even now, with the Emperor installed, Gowron did not turn his back on Worf’s brother for a second. Quite how the Chancellor had become this suspicious, was anybody’s guess- or would have been, if he let his private thoughts be known to anyone other than his trusted military adviser. He did not.

That military adviser entered now, and Gowron looked up, jerked out of his reverie. He watched as the General drew the blade of his d’k tahg across the palm of his own hand, and dripped his blood onto the floor, where it splattered at the Chancellor’s feet. Drawing his own knife, Gowron did the same. In this way both proved to one another that they were Klingons, and not changeling infiltrators. An annoying, but necessary little ritual that the General had insisted was done at every meeting.

“The fleet is ready,” General Martok said. “At your command, the invasion of Cardassia will commence.”

Gowron nodded. “ _majQa’_ ” he said. “And I am looking forward to seeing my friend Worf again,” he added.

“You still think of him as your friend, then? After he threatened to stand against you?” It was not the first time they had had this discussion, but this time, there was a sort of finality about it that was almost gruesome in its deliverance.

Gowron looked away for a moment, the meandering thoughts that had sunk into his head once again rising to the surface. He could not answer that question. Not yet. Not until he could find out for himself just how the land now lay between them now. He would reserve judgement until he knew- that was the honourable thing to do.

“We shall see,” Gowron said quietly. “We shall see.”


End file.
